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My first college semester ended in Christmas break. It was a typical Wisconsin winter – cold, snowy, and dark, but filled with all the lights and colors of the festive season. Roberta arrived Christmas week with a surprise. She brought along Otto Muldenberg who she introduced to us as her fiancé. He was an assistant conductor with a major symphony orchestra and in his forties, about ten years older than her. He was smug and looked down his nose at me when we were introduced, as though he was doing me a great favor by shaking my hand. He did not give Mom the respect she deserved as a full professor at a major university. But most important, he seemed to take my gorgeous sister for granted.

To me, Roberta was perfect in every way – exceptionally bright, drop dead gorgeous, musically gifted, culturally sophisticated. But he barely acknowledged her presence except to give her instructions. It set my teeth on edge, and by the time we loaded the luggage into the car, I had decided that I did not like him at all.

Mom and Roberta played a beautiful duet that first evening before dinner. At the end of it, Muldenberg spent almost fifteen minutes critiquing their performance, ending with the comment that it was painful to his ears.

“Well, no one’s forcing you to listen to it,” I snapped. “You can go for a walk in the snow and leave us to our simple pleasures.”

“Johanna!” said Roberta. “Otto’s just being constructive. After all, he’s a professional. Apologize to him at once.”

I normally obeyed Roberta without question, but now I was too angry to be repentant.

“He’s just being an asshole,” I said, stubbornly.

“Go to your room, Johanna,” said Mom. “Don’t come down till you are able to apologize and behave yourself.”

I went up to my room with my head held high. I spent an hour reading a book on my tablet. But I knew I was missing spending time with Roberta and eventually my love for her overcame my pride.

I came down to find Mom and Roberta in the kitchen, cooking and chattering in French as they always did. Muldenberg was sitting in the family room with his headphones on. I stood in the kitchen for a few moments before Mom saw me.

“Are you ready to apologize to Otto?” asked Mom.

 “Yes,” I said, hanging my head and feeling like a 6-year-old. “But he’s got his headphones on, I don’t want to disturb him.”

“You can do it at dinner,” she said.

Needless to say, it was tense and frustrating Christmas week for me. I did not get to spend quality time with Roberta as Otto was always with her. The way he treated her constantly grated on my nerves and I had a very hard time controlling my tongue.

One night, I sneaked up to her bedroom door at the end of the corridor upstairs and put my ear to the panel. I felt guilty about eavesdropping on my sister, but I hoped to hear that he was at least satisfying her in bed. I was only there a few minutes before I heard him panting and gasping along with the unmistakable sounds of head. Roberta was going down on him. It was all over in less than twenty seconds. He gurgled, snorted, and cried out in a high voice, almost a falsetto. It took a few minutes for his panting to stop.

“Really, Roberta,” he said in his grating, irritating voice. “You have no finesse, you give head like a whore. You never help me slow down and make it last.”

My hand tightened on the doorknob – I almost burst into Roberta’s bedroom. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to beat the shit out of him. I was sure I could thrash him easily, for he was pudgy and pasty. I controlled myself with a huge effort and slowly walked back to my bedroom. I picked up one of my pillows and pounded it to shapeless mass, pretending that it was Otto’s head.

“I hope she breaks up with him soon,” I said to Mom as we drove back from the airport.

“How can you say that about your own sister, Johanna? Don’t you want her to be happily married?”

“He won’t make her happy. He doesn’t appreciate her, doesn’t realize what a prize he has. She’s much too good for him. Come on, Mom, you know you agree with me.”

I looked over at her, away from the wipers working on the flurrying snow.

“There must be more to him, chérie. After all, Roberta has had many boyfriends before. This is the first time she has decided to become engaged.”

“Well, I think she’s making a mistake.

*

Sabine returned to her native Holland for the Christmas break, telling me that she would stay into late January in order to run in the qualifying races to maintain her place on the Dutch national team. She called me at the end of January to tell me that she had been selected for the Dutch team that would compete at the World Championships.

“They’ve asked me to transfer back to a university in my hometown of Leiden,” she said. “They want me to concentrate on training without the distractions of running in university meets in America.”

“But when will I see you again?” I asked.

“I don’t know, Johanna,” she said.

She didn’t seem overly concerned and we cut off the video link soon after. Sabine was my only close friend at the university. Her departure from my life made me feel very alone.

Several of my high school classmates were also enrolled at the local university with me for the same reason I had done so – it was convenient and relatively cheap. They had already spread the story of my hitting Michael Jones with the shovel. As the spring semester began, the stories circulating about me got worse, as both Lane and Parker told all their friends how I had threatened them with the hunting knife.

I had assumed that the university was a big, anonymous place where I could lose myself. But I soon learned that rumors and especially salacious stories spread very rapidly and I could not escape them. And I learned firsthand how stories got magnified as they were told and retold till they bore little resemblance to the truth.

Walt was a boy in my statistics class. I worked with him on the first assignment of the spring semester. After our first work meeting, he asked me out for a drink. He seemed very nice so I agreed. He was a junior, a couple years older than me. We went to a bar, where he ordered two beers and slipped one to me, as I was 18 (and underage), whereas he had just turned 21.

We were chatting amiably and I thought the evening was going very well, when I excused myself to go to the restroom. On returning toward our booth, I saw another boy standing by Walt and talking to him. Walt was listening intently and neither of them noticed me approaching. I was about say something when I heard the other boy mention me by name, so I stepped behind a pillar and waited to listen.

“ … Johanna von Eschenbach,” the other boy said. “Walt, you’ve got to be crazy dating her!”

“I’m not dating her,” said Walt. “We’re doing a statistics project together. I just asked her out for a drink, this is the first time. She’s very bright and seems nice enough.”

“She’s a psycho, Walt!”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard? There’s lots of kids from her high school at the university. They’ve told everyone how she beat one of the football players at her school with a shovel. She beat him so bad that his brains came out of his nose. And last semester, right here at the university, she went up to the room of a couple of guys – athletes, apparently. She led them on, let them take off her clothes. They thought she was going to let both of them fuck her. Then she suddenly pulled out a hunting knife and threatened to cut their dicks off.”

“No!” Walt inhaled sharply.

“She’s not very hot, either. Skinny, no ass, no tits. Not worth the risk, dude! But make up your own mind!”

The other boy drifted off and I waited a couple minutes before returning to the table. Walt drained the last of his beer just as I sat down.

“I’ve got an early morning class tomorrow, Johanna,” he said, sliding out of the booth and rising. “I’d better go. I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm,” I said.

“No need,” he said, a bit too hurriedly. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s no trouble,” I said. “I’d like to see where you live.”

“No, no,” he said, clearly worried. “There’s no need for that.”

“Listen, Walt, I know people say I’m crazy. But none of what they say about me is true –”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

He turned and walked out of the bar with quick steps without looking back. He seemed genuinely scared.

At our next statistics class, we got back our first assignment. Walt and I got 100%, a perfect score. It was the highest grade for the assignment. But after class, I discovered Walt had asked the professor to reassign him and set him up with another partner.

“No one seems to want to work with you,” the professor said to me. He sounded a bit puzzled. “Do you mind working on your own?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

“Good, good. I’m available if you have any questions.”

I had no doubt that I would do well – I was finding the class rather easy, especially after my experience with mathematical analysis in the previous semester. But it was a lot less fun working on my own.

After that, wherever I went on campus, I thought I saw people looking at me. I’m sure most of it was just in my imagination. But it inhibited me when I talked to anyone. Even ordering in the coffee shop, I felt like the barista was eyeing me fearfully. As the weeks passed, I began to feel very lonely and unhappy. My grandmother’s morality tale began to haunt me. She saw this rage in me, even when I was a child, I thought. Maybe I am a psycho, and people are right to be afraid of me.

*

I drifted into a new, fairly humdrum routine. I ran even more than before, often for hours. I went to my classes and studied the rest of the day. A couple evenings a week, I went to the stables. However, Robin now had a new crop of high school girls to help her and didn’t really need me. Misty Sue always found something for me to do, but she was not much of a talker. In any event, apart from our shared interest in horses, there was not much we could talk about. And even with horses, she wasn’t interested in talking about anything beyond the immediate practicalities of what needed to be done.

However, my experiences with Sabine taught me to read Misty Sue a lot better. I knew she wanted me. Her eyes followed me everywhere, especially when I took off my top and worked in my sports bra. I found her powerful physique a bit intimidating. There was no fat on her, but she was built like a tank – broad and square, her musculature almost manly in its bulk. She was only slightly taller than me, but outweighed me by a good 60 pounds.

I was pitching hay one evening in the late spring. The winter chill had worn off, and the with the longer days, the sun was still up. I was wearing cut-off jeans shorts, western style riding boots, a 10-gallon hat, and a colorful pink sports bra with a design of hearts and roses. I got hot with the hard, physical effort and sweat dripped of the tip of my nose. I took off my hat to avoid getting the hatband sweat stained and hung it on a peg in the barn. My sports bra was wet and clung to my small breasts. Misty Sue had just finished mucking out a stall and when she came out, our eyes met.

Like me, she was wearing a cut-off jeans and boots and had on a short sleeveless top that barely covered her breasts. She took off her hat, hung it by mine, and walked toward me. Her eyes never left mine and she put her hands on my bare shoulders.

“You’re 18,” she said.

“Nearly 19,” I replied.

“I want to see your tits.”

“Just see them?” I giggled.

“Smart mouth! How do you want it, rough or gentle?”

“What are you good at?”

She didn’t reply, but pulled my sports bra up, baring my breasts. I put my arms up to help her take it off. She kneaded my little mounds, licking and kissing my nipples. They reared up, hard, long, and meaty, and she growled her satisfaction deep in her throat. Her style was as different from Sabine’s as could be. She didn’t tease me, or make me wait. Her hands went straight from my breasts to the waist of my jean shorts, unbuttoning, unzipping them. I let them fall around my ankles and stepped out of them. I wore pink silk panties and Misty Sue slid a large hand under the waistband.

I gasped as her thick fingers found my pussy. Her touch was rough, but quite adept. She quickly worked me up into a heat, effortlessly making me wet.

“Omigod, Misty Sue! Omigod, Misty Sue!”

She pulled my panties down and I stepped out of them as well.

“I’ve waited years for this,” she whispered.

She pushed two fingers into my bare pussy and worked up a rhythm. My hands were on her broad shoulders, gripping her tightly. In her direct style, she drove me hard and I began to cum much sooner than I would have believed possible. My hips juddered and my legs grew weak as the waves engulfed me. I was only able to stay on my feet by holding on to her shoulders.

“Misty Sue,” I murmured.

“Shhh,” she said.

She picked me up effortlessly and carried me over to the tack room. She lay me down on the rough table and spread my legs. A moment later, her face was in my pussy, her tongue lavishing saliva on my vulva and my clit. Her style was workmanlike and efficient rather than artistic. But once again, she got the job done in short order. She held me down as I thrashed on the table, crying out wordless trills as another orgasm took hold of me. She did not prolong it, but sat back, and watched me wind down as the high slowly dissipated.

“Robin’s out shopping, won’t be back for a while,” she said. “Let’s go to our bedroom, you can show me what you’ve learned from that Dutch girlfriend of yours.”

“We’re both covered with sweat, Misty Sue,” I protested. “I can go down on you right here in the barn.”

“I’ve got to change the sheets today anyway. I’ve dreamed about doing a 69 with you for years.”

We sprawled on Robin and Misty Sue’s gigantic king bed, naked except for our boots. We explored each other’s bodies. Hers was a revelation to me. Her breasts were firm and hard like the rest of her. She moved me around the bed easily without manhandling me. Her hands seemed to be everywhere on me. Her shaven pussy was very womanly, and her thick vulva lips gripped my fingers when I pushed them into her. She was not loud or demonstrative, but her passions showed in her breathing – it grew labored, as I worked on her.

She was as good as her word, and rolled me on to my back, straddling my face with her crotch. She kept her weight off me, but ground her pussy on to my lips with just enough pressure to make it pleasant. Our sweat mingled as we stained the sheets. I was proud when I brought her off for the second time, my tongue working her clit. She lost control at that point, and for just a moment I felt her whole weight on me as we began to cum together. But she rolled off me quickly and came up to cuddle me through my afterglow.

“Is Robin okay with you cheating on her like this?” I asked as she held me in her strong arms.

“She pretends ignorance, but she knows I sleep with other girls.” She hugged me a bit tighter and kissed me. “She loves you too, Johanna. We should take her into bed between us.”

*

Over the next few weeks, Misty Sue and I made love regularly, mostly in their bedroom when Robin was out. We never did do the threesome that Misty Sue wanted. I don’t think Robin would have taken it well. While she may have suspected something was up between Misty Sue and me, she never let on. My work at the stables became a bit awkward, as I was always worried about the way that Misty Sue and I now looked at each other when Robin was around.

Eventually, I only went there to have sex with Misty Sue and only when I knew for sure Robin was out. Misty Sue asked me to wear feminine clothing when I came and I complied. I wore strappy high heels, stockings, very short skirts, sexy French lingerie, and silk choker ribbons. She particularly liked me to wear bandeau bras and to braid my hair so I looked even younger than my years. I took pleasure in the lust that burned in her eyes as she undressed me.

Every time I arrived, Misty Sue would drop whatever she was doing. She would guide me to the big master bedroom, lock the door, strip me, and make love to me with barely more than a “Hi.” Like Sabine, she took the dominant role in our sex, but she had much more bodily strength. I loved the way she could pick me up so easily, pin me down whenever she wanted, and yet make me feel so safe with her. She loved doing 69 with me, always on top, always careful not to crush me under her. She liked me half naked as we made love, in my stockings and high heels, my bra pulled down, but still on me, her lips tracing the lines of my choker on my throat.

In spite of her muscle, she was all woman, there was nothing trans about her. Her buttocks were hard, but her hips were generously wide as befitted a woman. Her pussy was sweet and her breasts rounded with nipples that puckered and hardened under my tongue. And she came like a woman with a slow burn that built to a smooth peak. As I learned her body better, I could get her to cum over and over again. In return, she brought me to mind-blowing orgasms. The highs of sex with her were addictive.

We would make love repeatedly, fulfilling our base fleshly needs and nothing else. The intense carnality that we shared was purely physical and we rutted together like animals. We exhausted ourselves in bed, driving each other to climax after climax till we were sore.

She always culminated our sexual romps with her one sexual device – a double-headed dildo with unbalanced heads. She would push the bigger cock into her damp pussy, groaning as she did so. Once she had it fully sheathed inside her, she would roll me on to my back and mount me like a man. She pushed the “cock” into me, using her weight to drive her thrust. Then, unlike a man, she would lie on me, gently moving her hips to work the dildo deep inside me. She built me up slowly to a very unique type of orgasm, deeply penetrated, but without actively fucking me. Then, after we both came again, she held her in her arms, both of us slippery with sweat and sexual fluids.

We showered together after we were done in bed. She always more sex there, wet and lathered. Sometimes I resisted, but rarely for long. Once she got me excited, my body ignored my mind.

As the weeks went by, the emptiness of our sex began to weigh on me. I wanted to talk it over with someone, but was not sure who. I was sure Roberta had never had experiences with women. I was afraid that Mom would get upset, since Misty Sue had known me since I was quite young.

As the spring began to warm up, I went the stables less frequently. But the memories of Misty Sue’s rough lovemaking were sharp, and thoughts of her often made me wet my panties in my bed at home. Every now and then desire overpowered me, and I gave in to the temptation. Each time I returned to her bed and her arms, I promised myself it was the last time.

*

I was home a lot now. I played the piano with Mom whenever she asked me, and helped her in the kitchen. Mom sensed something was wrong, and asked me about it. I was too embarrassed to admit the truth – that people on campus thought I was crazy, and that I was having intermittent, extremely physical sex with Misty Sue, a woman who had known me since before pubescence. So I brushed her off and told her everything was fine, that I was just studying hard.

A few weeks later, I was sitting in a campus bar, the same bar where I had had my failed “date” with Walt. I had just had an afternoon of sex with Misty Sue, so I was feeling physically sated and indolent. I was sipping a non-alcoholic drink and reading an article online. I heard my name, and looked up, unsure what to expect. It was Rudolf Schanzer, my math professor from the previous semester.

“Hi, Johanna. May I join you?”

I looked around the bar and saw that all the other tables were taken.

“Of course, Professor Schanzer,” I said.

“Rudolf,” he reminded me.

“Rudolf,” I repeated.

He sat down with his coffee and sandwich.

“How’s the semester going?” he asked.

“Better than the last one. I’m doing well in all my courses.”

“I had no doubt of that. But how about everything else?”

“Fine,” I said, cautiously. “How about you?”

“Can’t complain. My research and teaching are going well. My only problem is with my chamber group. I play the viola.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The conductress is not impressed with me.”

“I’m sure you’re not afraid of hard work.”

“I’ve been working hard, Johanna. But I think it’s talent that I’m missing.”

“I know the feeling,” I said, laughing.

I had an hour before class, so I sat and chatted with Rudolf. He moved on to talk about his latest research paper and I quizzed him about it. He was happy to talk about it in more detail.

“Explaining it to you makes me realize the holes in my reasoning,” he said. “You really seem to grasp the essentials of the problem.”

“Once you’ve framed the question, I can follow the logic,” I said.

“That’s precisely it, Johanna. Framing the question is the biggest part of research. If you’ve framed the question properly, answering it is just mechanics. Even graduate students have a hard time understanding this.”

It was nice to get praised like this by a super intelligent math professor and I basked in it. We talked on, switching back and forth between English and German. He gently corrected my pronunciation to try to get me to pick up his Heidelberg accent that he claimed was the “best” German. The intellectual stimulation of chatting with him was so much nerdy fun that the hour seemed to rush by.

“I really enjoyed that, Rudolf,” I said. “I’d love to see you again.”

Then I realized how forward I sounded, and blushed. But he just smiled.

“I was going to say the same thing. Lunch tomorrow?”

We met the next day for lunch. And the day after that. And every day that week. It was the polar opposite of my trysts with Misty Sue where I satisfied my bodily hungers and shut off my mind. With Rudolf, I was constantly talking, thinking, analyzing, and commenting. With him, I realized how much I had missed feeding my inner nerd.

 There was only a month or so left in the semester, but in that short time, I must have seen Rudolf twenty times, often for hours at a stretch. I began to realize that he was quite a handsome man, lean and fit. He told me he had rowed and fenced competitively as an undergraduate in his native Heidelberg. He still worked out and kept in shape. I developed quite a crush on him and even dreamed about him a few times.

The day I finished my last exam, I met Rudolf at a bar. I prevailed on him to bend the rules and buy me a beer. “So macht man es in Deutschland,” I said. (This is how you do it in Germany.)

“As always, your German is technically correct,” said Rudolf, grinning. “But no German would talk like that.”

“Will you get me a beer or not?”

“Ok, ok, Miss Pushy, I’ll get you a beer,” he said.

I was pleased with my success. He came back with two beers and a bowl of mixed nuts.

“Rudolf, I’d like you to come to my house,” I said, spontaneously, as we sipped our beers. “I’d like to cook you a meal.”

“Your house?” he said, cautiously.

“I live with my mom,” I said.

Mom was in Chicago for a meeting and she was not expected back till late. I felt a little thrill of excitement as I waited for his answer.

“I’m not sure, Johanna,” he said.

He looked as worried as Walt when I had asked to accompany him to his house. I suddenly wondered if Rudolf had heard the stories about me.

“Rudolf,” I said. “Do you think I’m crazy? That I might harm you physically?”

“No, of course not,” he said, looking genuinely surprised. “Why do you ask that?”

“Well, there are a lot of rumors about me amongst the undergrads. That I’m a psycho, dangerous, and so on. I thought you may have heard. I know that I am kinda weird.”

“You’re a lovely person, Johanna,” he said. “I don’t think you’re weird or strange. I would love to come to your house for dinner. I know your mother – after all, we’re both professors at the same university.”

“She’s not home,” I said. “She’s out of town till late.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding relieved.

I felt an inner lift. He wants to be alone with me, I thought happily. I guessed he was in his early thirties, about a dozen years older than me. But it did not seem an unbridgeable gap to me.

We walked home and as soon as we got there, I ran into the powder room. I ran my fingers through my hair, freshened my lipstick, smoothed down my short skirt, and made sure my stockings were just so on my long legs. I primped in front of the bathroom mirror for moment. I was normally proud of my well-defined abs and always wore short tops that left my midriff bare in the summer. But now I worried that they would detract from my femininity. I tied a knot in my top to tighten it around my small breasts to make them stand out more and to clearly highlight the outlines of my bra.

I decided to make salmon meuniere, one of the few dishes I was confident of making without Mom to help me. I pressed Rudolf in to service as my sous-chef and opened a bottle of the Pouilly-Fumé that I knew Mom would have paired with the salmon. We drank and chatted in German as we cooked. I was having a great time. With my back to him, I unbuttoned two buttons of my top, to reveal the bridge of my pink bra with its little butterfly bow. After I turned around, I caught Rudolf stealing glances at me and was pleased with the success of my little maneuver. His looks got me into a bit of a state, and my nipples hardened, making obvious pokies through my thin bra and top.

We ate in the dining room. He praised the dinner with unfeigned wonder, and I brushed it aside, saying it was a simple recipe. He pressed my hand, insisting that he was right. I took advantage of his nearness to put my other hand around his shoulder. I pulled him toward me and kissed him.

He went completely rigid and drew both his hands away from me. I used my tongue aggressively, trying to get a response from him. He resisted for a moment, but eventually slowly opened his mouth and let me taste his tongue.

“Johanna!”

It was Mom’s voice raised high in shock and I froze. I released Rudolf as though he was red hot, sat back, and pushed my chair away from him. Mom was in the dining room door in a dark formal suit with a skirt and jacket. Her coat was over her arm, her purse in one hand, and her leather attaché case in the other. She set her attaché case down, threw coat on the bureau and put down her purse on it. She looked at Rudolf and pointed at him with one perfectly manicured finger.

“What are you doing in my ’ouse, Rudy?”

Rudolf had stood up looking panicked, truly frightened.

“It’s not what you think, Marie-Aude …”

“Is this your sick Nabokov strategy, Rudy? To sleep with me to get at my innocent daughter? She’s just a child. How depraved can you be?”

“No, no, Marie-Aude,” he protested, putting his hands up in an instinctive defensive gesture. “I have not touched Johanna …”

“I found you kissing her, Rudy!”

My mind was reeling with shock, but my response was kneejerk.

“He didn’t kiss me, Mom,” I said. “I tried to kiss him.” Then I stood up as well and put my hands on my hips. “And I’m not Lolita, I’m nearly 19. I can sleep with whoever I want. It’s all legal.”

“I think you better leave, Rudy,” said Mom, ignoring me.

“Yes, Marie-Aude,” he said.

He went out through the door to the living room. I made to follow him, but Mom held me by the wrist and kept me with her. I heard the front door open and close behind him. There were several moments of silence before Mom led me to the dining table. We both sat down.

“Did Rudy tell you that he and I are … lovers?” Mom asked.

“No, Mom.” I looked down at the tabletop. Then I looked her in the eye. “Were you sleeping with him last semester? When I was in his class?”

“No, Johanna. It all started this semester when he joined our chamber group as the violist.” She sniffed. “He’s not very good, but violists are hard to find.”

“Mom, Rudolf is the first person I’ve met at the university that I’m truly attracted to.”

“How long have you been … spending time with him?”

“About a month.”

“He should have told you he is seeing me,” said Mom. “That was dishonest of him.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be sleeping with him, Mom. He’s young enough to be your son!”

My tone and expression were resentful. Mom leaned forward and put her hands on both sides of my face.

“Yes, chérie, he’s too young for me. But he’s too old for you.”

“I don’t care!” I shouted. “I just want someone to hold me and appreciate me as a person! Someone to make love to me, not just fuck me! And Rudolf likes me, I know he does. But of course, he likes you better! I’m always competing with you, Mom! And I can’t win!”

I flounced out of the dining room, ran up the stairs to my room, and slammed the door. I threw myself in my bed – the bed where I had fantasized having sex with Rudolf – and starting crying. Everything had seemed so perfect just an hour before. Now it was all in ruins.

A few minutes later, Mom opened my door and came in. She sat on my bed and tried to run her fingers through my hair as she always did. I slapped her hand away – something I had never done before.

“I’m sorry, chérie. I didn’t know you were spending time with him. I won’t see him again if it bothers you.”

“What’s the use? It’s all spoiled now – every time I see him, I’ll imagine him in bed with you.” I felt fresh tears run down my cheeks. “Am I really so unattractive?”

Mom leaned forward and put her arms around me.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Johanna,” she said, kissing me on the lips.

“But only my mom thinks so,” I retorted. “Wes Collins, the boy who took my virginity, told me that you were sexier than me. Then last semester, Sabine wanted you. Now Rudolf would rather sleep with you than me. It never ends, does it?”

“You’re young, Johanna. You have your whole life in front of you. You mustn’t let a few experiences get you down.”

“It’s not just this, Mom! I’m just weird, everyone says so. Even I don’t know what I am. I don’t fit in anywhere. I’m too nerdy to be a cowgirl, so psychotic that I scare off all the nerds, not feminine enough to be real woman.”

“You’re just young for your age, Johanna, naïve and innocent. Someday, you’ll find a knight on a charger who’ll cherish your sweetness. Just don’t be in such a tearing hurry to find him.”

“I’m not young and innocent, Mom,” I said, thinking about my sexual romps with Misty Sue. “I know a lot about sex.”

“Come to my bed, ma fille,” she said, ignoring me again. “I don’t think either one of us wants to sleep alone tonight.”

I changed into a shortie nightie and went into Mom’s bedroom. She was sitting on her big bed in a one of her special long nightgowns. We got under the covers and I burrowed into her side like I used to do when I was little. She cuddled me and kissed me on the lips. I felt her body as a woman, not a mother. I recognized how sensual she was, even at her age. I was both repulsed and excited by my feelings of taboo excitement.

“Are you going to keep seeing Rudy?” she asked me.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Are you going to sleep with him again?”

“I don’t know. It depends on you. I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

I held her tighter and pressed my lips to hers to see how she would react. She put her hands on my shoulders and squeezed.

“I’m your mother, Johanna,” she said. “I’m not your lover. But I’ll always love you. Remember that. Always.”

Sometimes I dream of Mom and when I do, I always hear her saying that to me.

*

Rudolf, Mom, and I worked it out that summer after my freshman year. I ran into him a few days later by the Union. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and tried to ignore him. But he crossed over and stopped me, touching me lightly on the arm.

“Johanna, bitte hör mir zu,” he said. (Please listen to me.)

“Okay,” I replied.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” he said, switching to English.

We went to a coffee shop in silence. We sat down and looked at each other over the rims of our cups.

“It was wrong of me to hide my affair with your mother from you,” he said. “But I was enjoying our conversations so much, and was afraid that you would stop seeing me if you knew.”

I did not reply, just kept my eyes on him.

“Your mother is an incredible woman, Johanna. I’m grateful that she chose to have me in her life. And in her bed.”

“She’s old enough to be your mother,” I said. “But she’s still more attractive and sexier than me.”

“I was already in an affair with her when we first spent time together in the spring semester. My connection with her made me look on you like a father. I still think of you that way – with the paternal affection, not sexual desire.”

“I don’t want you to be my father figure,” I said, my voice rising and breaking. “You’ll never be a patch on my dad!”

“I’m sorry, Johanna. I never meant to compare myself to your father. Let me take that back. Let me say instead that I think of you as a friend. A dear friend. And I hope you will think of me that way.”

“A friend,” I said.

“A platonic friend. Someone to talk to, to laugh with, to tell your troubles to, to trust.”

“What about Mom?”

“I have begged her to take me back,” he said. “But she will not see me again unless you forgive me.”

“So the only reason you want to be my friend is so you can sleep with my mother.”

“Don’t make it sound so crude, Johanna. Please. I have tender feelings for your mother. She was lonely when she met me.”

I gave Rudolf a long look and let a silence develop. He didn’t try to fill it and did not look away. The genuineness that I had felt about him from the start was still there.

“I want Mom to be happy,” I said at last. “If you’ll make her happy, I’ll be your friend.”

Mom took Rudolf back as her lover. I saw even more of him now, for Mom often had him over at our house instead of always meeting him at his place as she had before. It gradually got less awkward. He sometimes stayed over and I got used to finding him in the kitchen in the morning in his pajamas.

When Mom wasn’t around, he and I spoke more and more German to each other. I’m a pretty good mimic and under his tutelage, my Heidelberg accent improved to the point where he said I could almost pass for a native.

The three of us cooked together, played classical music together, and Mom put up with both of us. Both Rudolf and I were keenly aware of how much better she was. Our mutual realization of the reality of the situation made it work for all of us.

Mom and Rudolf looked happy together and that made me happy. Being cheery made it easier to resist temptation. But sometimes I would see Mom with that look on her face, humming to herself. And I just knew that she had just had good sex. Temptation would rear its ugly head again. And I would sneak off for an afternoon of mindless sex with Misty Sue.